


Sploogetastic (What, What: In The Butt)

by tourdefierce



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, Crack, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rough Sex, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story wherein Arthur is a bastard, Eames is in love, Ariadne is taking over the world with her vocabulary and Yusuf is the only one with any dignity left to lose. This is a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sploogetastic (What, What: In The Butt)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted for Cherrybina Inception Kink Fest. Many thanks to sabriel75 for betaing this for me. I would apologize but Ariadne says, "BITCHES DON'T APOLOGIZE. WE JUST REPRESENT." Holla.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ: April 5th, 2011.

Eames can't believe they're having this conversation right now.

"I don't know where you've been," is all Arthur says, not even looking up from his book.

"But if you did?"

Eames tries to sound casual, but it's not at all. He's already panting and hard in his pants at the thought. Just the conversation, _alone_ , makes him want to fuck his fist to completion.

"Well," Arthur says carefully, turning the page of his book, "hypothetical conversations bore me."

He's curt and such a fucking bastard but there's something in the set of Arthur's jaw that has Eames backing away with a smile, phone already out to make an appointment at the local clinic.

<3<3<3

Eames is not very good at being patient.

The waiting is overwhelming, especially since Arthur is being a fucking prick. He's malicious and insane and just, Eames wants to bend him over every surface of the flat and fuck him until he cries actual tears. He's been particularly smug this week because he's on security detail. No one hates security detail more than Arthur. He loathes it to his very core and he makes everyone around him suffer for it.

Last time he was stuck on detail, Eames got stabbed in the leg with a pencil for accidentally spilling Arthur's coffee cup.

This morning, Eames had woken up to an empty bed. A file had been replaced where Arthur's body was supposed to be. In the folder was Arthur's blood work, a full STI work up, every three months for the past five years.

"You fastidious cunt," Eames had practically screamed, hand choking his cock as he came all over the documents out of spite.

Ever since then, he's had half an erection all day long. He can't get rid of it and it's all Arthur's fault. He's having straight up hallucinations about Arthur's arse, slick with Eames come and fucked out, waiting to be filled again and again with Eames' cock. He imagines it'll be slightly red, puffy from use and just as needy as Arthur's voice, twisted with desperation when he wants Eames to do incredibly kinky things to him.

Eames is obsessed.

Something is going to have to give.

<3<3<3

They're two days from going under, when Arthur decides that being a hellion just isn't enough but that he really needs to manifest the devil to complete his torture of Eames.

Arthur is grinding his dick into Eames' face, thrusting into his mouth and using him pretty throughly. It's lovely to watch Arthur work out his work stress. He's sweating, naked and gorgeous, as he fights his orgasm. He's practically fucking Eames' face but his thrusts are getting irregular, rough and desperate as he gets closer to his orgasm. It's Eames' favorite part, watching Arthur struggle for control before unraveling.

Eames sucks harder and tries not to look smug.

It doesn't work.

"God, your fucking mouth," Arthur says, readjusting his grip on Eames' face until it's punishing. Eames relaxes his throat in retaliation as Arthur does his level best to put bruises underneath his jawline.

(Eames' dick throbs in his pants, thinking about the time Arthur had put eight fingertip bruises underneath his jaw that were splotchy purple in the bathroom light. God, Eames had wanked to the sight of them and smirked at Cobb when he asked _if everything was alright_ , and _christ, did you kill someone last night_. At the time, Arthur had bitten his lip over his Moleskin and Eames had dragged him into the bathroom as soon as Cobb went under, jacking them both off as Arthur sucked on the bruises with too-loud moans and vehement curses.)

The closer Arthur gets to coming, the mouthier he is. It's a quality that surprised Eames when they first started fucking; the way Arthur just spits and snarls his way to an orgasm with pure, utter filth on his tongue like he has absolutely no control over it and hates the world for betraying him. The dirty talk—babbling, really—gets worse when things are up Arthur's arse.

Eames moves a hand up Arthur's thigh, worming a finger between his clenching cheeks and rubs at his entrance. Arthur narrows his eyes, his thrusts faltering.

"You're thinking about it," Arthur breaths out. "Thinking about fucking me bare, filling me up with come."

Eames' eyes widen, his mouth getting slicker just thinking about it and Arthur rams his cock farther down Eames' throat because he's a brat.

"You fucking pervert. Bet you won't even clean me up properly," Arthur bites out, moaning a little. "You'll just stick your filthy tongue up my hole, get off on tasting your come in my ass and once you've eaten it all, you'll just fill me up again. You greedy little fuck."

Eames comes all over Arthur's feet, choking a little on Arthur's cock as he swallows around Arthur's length and moans all at the same time.

Arthur comes a couple thrusts later, still talking about his come flavored hole, a smirk plastered all over his smug face.

Eames' hates him.

<3<3<3

The job comes and goes without problem.

Not that Eames is paying any attention, since his mind is stuck on Arthur and fucking him without a condom. It's a broken record that plays through Eames' head, tormenting him and making him miserable.

Arthur, being the complete psycho that he prides himself on being, is enjoying Eames' torture.

They're fucking is nothing short of animalistic. Eames has more bruises on his body than the time he spent in that prison in Syria. Arthur-shaped bruises, bite-marks and his stupid smirk are burned into Eames' skin and it chases him into the dream world whenever they both go under. However, all the scorn radiating off of Eames turns Arthur on and they fuck at least three times a day.

It's probably the best sex he's had in his life.

<3<3<3

Eames spends two weeks, blissfully undistracted, after the job. They have to split up for a bit and Arthur goes off to do whatever it is he does when he's alone after a job. (Eames is convinced he's a serial killer but Cobb is a wishful thinker, claiming Arthur's probably just a hired assassin.) Eames goes to the casinos, drinks his way through a couple of days and comes out a better man.

After the first week, a bottle of lube is delivered to Eames hotel with a black ribbon tied to the top. There is no note but Eames can picture Arthur's face, curled up in a smile and he's suddenly assaulted by Arthur's words, thick with arousal and want.

 _get off on tasting your come in my ass and once you've eaten it all, you'll just fill me up again..._

Eames comes all over his trousers, not even patient enough to get his kit off.

Instead of calling Arthur for spectacular but undoubtably torturous phone sex, Eames snarls in the mirror and vows to get his shit together. Not thinking about Arthur and his perfect arse is not difficult. He just has to put his mind to it.

He throws his phone in the river, joins an illegal boxing ring and beats out his frustrations.

Three months of monogamy is a small price to pay for Arthur's bare arse but it's not _easy_. Eames has to steal a passive three days in because his dick is raw from wanking. Out of spite, he forges Arthur and fucks as many twinks as possible, picking them up in dingy clubs with shitty music that Arthur loathes and taking them to the backroom. He gets glitter all over Arthur's body and takes great pleasure in the snarling Arthur's body does automatically.

It isn't satisfying at all.

<3<3<3

When he gets to their flat in Barcelona, he fucks Arthur against the door with his trousers and pants around his ankles. Arthur laughs on his condom-covered cock, huffs out tiny little chuckles at Eames' desperation but he is already slick when Eames slides in, the thought of Arthur fingerfucking himself to get ready for Eames' arrival belies his own desperation that he'll never admit to. Arthur's a filthy bottom but he's not fucking happy about it.

"I want it so badly," Eames sobs into Arthur's neck, pumping his cock into Arthur's arse so roughly that it lifts him off the ground with each thrust. "I need it, need to fuck you and fill you up and _Christ, Arthur_."

Eames comes first, growling and begging into Arthur's neck. Eames isn't even soft yet when Arthur slips to his knees and pulls off the condom to suck at Eames' too sensitive prick, licking at the come-slick head until Eames is hard enough to want Arthur again.

Arthur is the only man in the world who can smirk with a cock in his mouth.

<3<3<3

Arthur's lying on his stomach, face blissed out and turned slightly into the pillow with his hair curling from the shower. Eames is indulging in one of his favorite past-times, watching Arthur and ninja-cuddling. Seeing as how Arthur forbids any kind of cuddling in the bedroom, Eames has to trick him into it.

(Although, it should be said that this rule doesn't apply to Arthur and his guns. Eames has seen Arthur cuddle with his guns before. In fact, Arthur has been known to sleep with more than one of his beloved firearms. He's been known to sleep with them loaded, safety off, finger on the trigger and even though Eames knows he's going to get shot one day and die a really embarrassing death for an international mind thief, it's still really hot that Arthur's a psycho little fuck.)

The first step to cuddling without getting injured is fucking Arthur until he's nearly unconscious. It's a key step but it takes dedication because that's at least two orgasms with strenuous foreplay. The second step is two parts charm, one part timing and all parts awesome.

Ninja-cuddling is Eames' professional _sport_. He should get medals of honor. He's entirely too badass at it.

"Have you done it before?" He asks into the stillness of the room. The only sound is the little shuffling noises Arthur makes as he's dropping off to sleep.

Eames is tracing the freckles on Arthur's shoulder with his fingers, rubbing at the muscle at the same time and inching his leg closer to Arthur's prone form. He's waiting for sleep to overtake Arthur so that he can slide his leg over and possibly just climb on top of Arthur and smother him with cuddling. Or just smother him. Sometimes the line between love and hate is very thin for them.

Arthur doesn't say anything in response, he just arches his eyebrow as if to say; _Don't make me repeat myself, bitch_.

"Barebacking," Eames clarifies. "Have you done it with someone else before?"

Eames watches, mesmerized, as Arthur's mouth twitches. It's his tell, he's thinking about lying to Eames right now but then his lips smooth out into a smile and Eames shifts a little closer. Arthur's decided on telling the truth, revealing a tiny bit of himself and Eames take his chances by pressing their sides together.

"I have but I topped."

"You topped?"

Arthur snorts. "Believe it or not, Mr. Eames. I wasn't always a cock-hungry whore."

"Just for me then, darling?"

Arthur shrugs, aloof. Eames can't resist pressing a few sloppy and worshipful kisses to Arthur's shoulders. Even though Eames knows that Arthur had preferred to top with his other significant others, he's not sure what that means. Arthur's a control freak and Eames had always thought that's what it came down to but now, with this little reveal, he's not quite sure what to do with that information.

"It was nice," Arthur says after a while.

"Nice?"

Eames has a hard time believing that he will _ever_ describe fucking Arthur as nice, let alone without a barrier between his cock and Arthur's slick, tight heat.

"Strangely intimate," Arthur amends and Eames just hums in response. He's a little jealous that he has to share this part of Arthur with someone but Eames is always jealous of people who've touched Arthur. He almost shanked Ariadne, just last week, in a fit of jealousy.

"Don't worry. I have no doubt that you'll enjoy it."

Eames thumbs over Arthur's half-smile, listening to the sound of his breathing even out before he slots his body over Arthur's. It's an expert maneuver in ninja-cuddling, distributing his weight as to not disturb Arthur but managing to blanket Arthur's smaller frame with Eames' bulk. Once he gets in position, he rubs his face in Arthur's neck and inhales.

He vows that Arthur will not describe their adventure into barebacking as _nice_ because even ninja-cuddling is fucking brilliant with Arthur.

Nice. Please.

<3<3<3

Eames spends twenty minutes staring at Arthur's arse, brief clad and scrumptious looking as he's yelling into his cellphone. Whoever is on the other line is getting an ear full, incurring the Wrath of Arthur by probably being incompetent or being born a Cobb. Eames gets to watch Arthur pace back and forth in his panties.

He stares and stares and... burns the fuck out of his mouth on his tea.

"This is getting ridiculous," Eames says to himself. He forces himself to turn around and march to the bedroom to pick up his own mobile.

"Yo."

"I think I'm loosing my mind," Eames says, desperately.

Ariadne, because she has no soul, laughs. "Not news to me."

"I need to get away from Arthur before I take advantage of him in his sleep."

"Dude, rape is no laughing matter. Although, I'm fairly sure he could take you on drugged and half-dead. Have you seen him in a hostile environment? He makes you look like a fuckin' kitten."

Eames stares at his hands. "I'm a very dangerous man, Ariadne love."

"Sure thing," she says, entirely too amused. "Listen—"

"You don't understand. I might eat him alive."

"Do you guys realize just how fucking weird you are?"

Eames nods. "Absolutely."

"Fine. Come visit. Yusuf is coming this weekend to bring me new compounds and play some rugby."

"You play rugby?"

"Hey, I've got a lot of pent up aggression that needs working on," she says, seriously. "And Arthur keeps thwarting my every attempt to procure a weapon. He's like some sort of Glock-God."

"He collects arms dealers like most people collect friends," Eames says, impossibly turned on by this fact and miserable by it.

"Obvi."

"I'm coming to play rugby," he says decisively.

"Alright, but when we beat the shit out of you, there will be no crying."

"Believe me, Ariadne, light of my life, nothing short of water boarding would be worse than the hell I've created for myself."

Again, she laughs.

"Oh man, this is going to be ace. You've got to tell me everything. My dick is aching just thinking about whatever fucked-up nonsense you've got going on. Seriously, I have a clit boner for you and Arthur's disfunction."

Eames looks toward the door, where Arthur is threatening someone's family (looking detranged and lovely) and then turns back to the phone. He ignores Ariadne's previous statement because he too is totally turned on by Arthur and how much of a freak he is.

"I'll be there by tonight."

<3<3<3

Eames sits on the sidelines, umbrella in his drink, watching Yusuf get his ass kicked by tiny women. It's amazing. It's exactly what he needs. There is nothing like Yusuf getting his dignity handed to him in a field in Paris to take Eames' mind off of Arthur's heavenly arsehole.

He's comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that.

"Hello, darling," Eames says as Ariadne limps off the field, grinning and bleeding from the mouth. "How's the arse-kicking?"

"Yusuf is an infant and I own him," she says, squirting water into her mouth and spitting.

Eames is almost turned on.

She plops herself on the ground, watching as Yusuf gets pummeled by a small Japanese girl. She's standing on top of him and beating her chest in victory. Eames takes another drink and smiles.

"So," Ariadne begins, shifting next to him. "You and Arthur, like, love each other."

Eames stills.

"I'm not judging you," she continues. "I'm just saying, no condoms and monogamy, that's some seriously adult shit."

"Thank you for your astute assessment."

This is why Eames can't have nice things. It's like the dream is constantly collapsing in on him as punishment for being too sexy or having such a hot boyfriend. He was having such a nice time! And now Ariadne has come round to ruin it by bringing up Arthur and his perfectly shaped arse and his lovely, sociopathic heart.

"Barebacking, huh?"

"Don't say that word."

Ariadne tilts her head back and grins. "Wouldn't think Arthur would be into that."

"You and Arthur talk a lot about that, do you?"

She holds her hands up. "Don't get snippy with me, dude. I'm just saying, he likes things clean, streamlined, and semen is messy."

What's worse than watching Arthur prance around the flat with his delectable arse? Listening to Ariadne talk about come.

"I mean, I've never done it, but I've watched porn and it's all... you know, sploogey."

"Oh my God," Eames groans.

"I just didn't peg him to be into it," she comments with a shrug. "He must really love your stupid face to let you put your naked cock anywhere."

"I—" but then he stops because what does he honestly have to say to that?

"I mean really," the heartless woman continues. "Just, splooge _everywhere_. All down his thighs and—"

"Ariadne," Eames growls, hand on her shoulder. "You are ruining the fragile state of my sanity."

She looks up, sees the obvious distress on his face and then looks back to where Yusuf looks to be running or flailing down the field as if he's escaping zombies.

"Right."

"Indeed."

Then she gets up and leaves him, running the length of the field and tackling Yusuf from behind, screaming, "EAT MUD, MY MINION."

Eames mixes himself another drink.

<3<3<3

Three days later the phone rings.

"There's a plane that leaves in an hour," Arthur's voice floats tersely over the line. "If you leave Ariadne's now, you can make it."

"Darling—"

"There is an envelope in my hand and that means your dick could be in my ass. What are you still doing in Paris?"

Eames feels like all the air has been punched out of his lungs, like that time Arthur caught him in the sternum with his elbow while they were fucking and he almost passed out while he was coming. It's like that, but better because he's not afraid he's dying from internal bleeding.

Eames sits down because he's actually _dizzy_.

"Did you open it?"

"I don't do other people's mail," he says with scorn.

"Arthur..."

"Just get here, Eames," Arthur says, his voice twisted and desperate and oh, Christ, just the loveliest sound in Eames' life. "Just, I need you to be here, now."

Eames makes it to the airport in record time.

<3<3<3

When Eames arrives at the flat, all the lights are turned off and he heads straight to the bedroom. Arthur is there, wearing a faded shirt that is most definitely Eames' and gray boxer-briefs. He's sitting in the middle of the bed staring down at the envelope like he would a particularly difficult maze or Cobb's children when he's trying to think of which chapter in the parenting book he's read the situation refers to. It's the fiercest face, brow furrowed, lips pursed and his cheeks, his lovey cheeks, are flushed.

"You should open it," Arthur says, stiffly. "I've been hard for hours."

Eames steps closer to the bed. "You didn't have a wank?"

Arthur just swallows, adam's apple bobbing and shakes his head. Eames swoons a little in his depraved heart. He sits down on the bed and opens the envelope as nicely as he can with shaking hands. Arthur continues to stare at the papers in Eames' hands. It's nice to know that Arthur's effected by it all and Eames has to close his eyes to ignore the Ariadne-esque voice in his head that says, _Yo, this is love, man._

She's seriously ruining his life.

The paper has a nice neat row of check marks.

"All clear," Eames says, his voice croaks. Arthur continues to stare. "Arthur, I mean, technically we should still wait another three months. We don't have to..."

His argument dies when Arthur looks up. His eyes are wide, the same look he gets after he's just come—as if he's already overwhelmed with sensation and they aren't even naked yet. Arthur licks his lips and Eames can't possibly think of anything more alluring.

"Eames, I need you to be naked now."

Eames doesn't move. "You're wearing my shirt."

"Smells like you," Arthur says with a slow blink and there are times like these when Eames has no idea what they're saying.

Eames kisses him.

It's not as feral as he would imagine. It's slower, Arthur moaning straight into the kiss and opening up for him quickly and without hesitation.

"Arthur," Eames breathes out, between kisses but he just shakes his head and pulls at Eames' shirt.

"I need skin," he says as he nips at Eames' lips.

Eames' shirt goes quickly but Eames' hands linger on his t-shirt, threadbare and soft, hanging off Arthur's shoulders. Arthur is too busy running his hands over Eames bare skin, tracing the tattoos he loves to hate.

"Arthur—"

"Can you just not talk," Arthur says without heat. "I'm trying to have a moment here."

Eames laughs. "Sorry, love."

They kiss again, because Eames can't get enough of Arthur's mouth. He's especially pliant today, opening and yielding to Eames' tongue. It's rare for Arthur to take anything lying down, and he's still scratching his finger nails across Eames' shoulders as if to make a point, but it's good.

Eames rolls Arthur's nipples through the t-shirt, enjoying the way he arches and hisses into Eames' mouth.

"Stop fucking around," Arthur curses. Eames presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth just to be difficult. Arthur rolls his eyes. "Clothes off."

"I like you in my shirt," Eames says, nibbling at Arthur's jawline. "Maybe I'll fuck you in it."

Arthur's face flushes but he shakes his head. "Want to feel you, another time."

Eames wants to examine everything Arthur says, wants to wrap himself up in Arthur's words and try and understand the complicated man but he can't, not with Arthur pawing at his trousers and wiggling out of his own briefs. Eames can never deny Arthur something when he actually asks for it. So they undress, clothes get discarded and Eames gets distracted by Arthur's body more than once. It doesn't feel new, not like Eames thought it would, but worn and soft and... strangely intimate.

By the time Eames is pushing his fingers into Arthur's tight, needy hole, he feels a bit unraveled.

"Christ, Arthur," Eames bites into Arthur's calf as Arthur just writhes on his hand.

"More."

Eames slides a second finger in without hesitation, chasing droplets of lube. Even in pleasure, Arthur knows exactly what he wants and he doesn't mess around. He's shameless and driven, arms stretched high above his head to press against the headboard and shove himself back onto Eames' thrusting fingers. His gaze is hooded, breath coming into pants through his open, slick mouth.

Eames kisses him, because he can.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Eames says, sucking on Arthur's bottom lip.

"We're not going to be doing anything if you keep fingerfucking me like that," Arthur growls back, arching into the shove of Eames' fingers against his prostate. "Eames, stop stalling."

Eames nods, licking back into Arthur's mouth and sliding a third finger inside of him.

"I'm getting impatient," Arthur growls into his mouth, nipping at Eames' mouth with the intention of drawing blood.

Eames can't even smile, not when Arthur's twisting his hips like that. Instead, he ducks away to suck on Arthur's nipple until he's cursing and threatening to shoot him if he doesn't get on with it.

"Fuck me," Arthur breathes, back arching. "Just you, _ohhellyesEames_ , fuck me."

He kisses his way back up Arthur chest, stopping to suck a mark onto his neck where he can't hide with high collars. Arthur whines and smacks him on the back of the head for his trouble. When he pulls up to kiss him again, Arthur stops him with a hand forcefully on his jaw. Eames is reminded of those bruises and he whines, an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat.

Arthur's eyes are serious, blown black with arousal, but deadly serious.

"If you don't want to do this," he says, trying not to twitch his hips on Eames' still fingers, "then we don't have to. I know we never talk about—"

Eames cuts him off with a kiss, savage and plundering.

"I can't believe you want to have this conversation right now!" Eames says when they break apart. Only Arthur would think now is an appropriate time to talk about their relationship. Jesus.

"Eames."

The both breathe deeply, foreheads pressed together.

"I want you," Eames says softly, hoping that Arthur understands. "I want all of you."

When Eames opens his eyes, Arthur's still staring at him but he's lost the deadly look on his face, replaced with arousal and something like love that Eames never wants to forget.

"Then give it to me, Eames. I'm fucking asking you to."

Well, and that's it isn't it?

Eames pushes up until Arthur's legs are against his chest and slowly pulls out his fingers. Arthur hisses, hips squirming in such an un-Arthur way that Eames has to smile because fuck, does he love this man this much? Is that actually possible? How the hell did they end up here?

"Eames, please?"

The way Arthur says please is like how normal people say 'ow' when they're at the dentist getting a tooth pulled. It's growled out and ripped from him and just, unsettling. But it's _Arthur_ , through and through.

Arthur keeps eye contact as Eames pushes inside of him. He's loose from three fingers but oh fuck, it's hot and tight anyway. Eames can't help but gasp, fingers griping Arthur's thighs like a lifeline. It's just, beyond reckoning and Eames pushes inside with a single thrust.

" _Eames_ ," Arthur literally keens and Eames immediately pushes at Arthur's legs until he can see his cock buried inside. It's perfect. It's a fucking inferno. Eames grinds his hips in a circle until Arthur kicks a leg out to pull him closer in frustration.

"You're being a cunt," Arthur hisses but Eames can't stop smiling, his hand palming Arthur's leaking cock, squeezing his balls before his settles on tracing the place where they're joined. His rolls his hips, barely moving and Arthur turns his head to bite his own shoulder. "You fucking asshole."

Eames traces the wide hole, so hot and perfect and just for him.

When Eames finally pulls out to thrust back in, Arthur retaliates by clenching down around him and sending him stuttering into him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Arthur," Eames mutters, leaning forward to bite and suck at Arthur's chest as his hips move forward without his permission, slamming into Arthur until they're both moaning and Eames feels his orgasm threatening. Arthur's louder than he needs to be, the filth already creeping into his mouth and Eames' head is spinning. God, he wants this to last but it's too much, too hot and too _Arthur_ for this to be less than over-his-head-phenomenal.

"Harder, Eames," Arthur whines. "God, fuck into me like you mean it, you son-of-a-bitch. I want you to have to eat your come out of me for days—oh yes, harder, _Eames_ ".

Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur's ribs and Arthur snarls, one hand going into Eames' hair while the other helps to fuck back onto Eames' bare cock.

"Eames, you have to," Arthur stops and moans, hands moving to claw at Eames' neck. "Want to feel you, want to, fuckrightthere, want to feel you come inside me."

Eames growls, thrusting so hard the frame rattles and Arthur sounds broken, wrecked and just, sharp like any moment he'll snap and kill Eames. It's hotter than anyone realizes as they both thrash together in pleasure.

"You bastard! Come on. Fill me up, need it, want to feel you come... bet it's so hot and slick and fuckfuckfuck, come on you son-of-a—"

Eames comes like he's been hit by a lorry. It strikes through him until he can't breathe, teeth clamped down on Arthur's belly as he shoves his hips into Arthur like he wants to crawl inside of him and take up residence.

"Eames," Arthur begs, a whisper compared to their panting.

"How does it feel?" Eames murmurs, forcing his eyes open where he's nuzzling Arthur's belly—Arthur's cock weeping against Eames' collarbone.

"Hot, so fucking hot and slick, like you've fucked me wide open and," Arthur gasps and whines high. "Like I'll feel it for days, Eames... _Eames_."

Eames is still inside him, hips rolling lazily in the aftershocks of his orgasm, still half-hard.

"How do you want to come, darling?"

Arthur shakes his head, thrashing on the pillow.

"Eames, it feels so good."

Eames nods.

"Can you, can you—"

Eames sits up, looming over Arthur and kissing his face. "Anything, what do you need?"

Arthur's eyes snap open. "Get hard again. Get hard again so I can ride you, please, oh god yes, please. I want to feel you leak out of me when I ride you, make a mess out of your own come, oh please, yeah."

Eames rolls them over without thought.

Arthur's body undulates above him. His hips moving without thought, grinding down in desperate little thrusts against Eames' half-erect cock. His face is blissed out but tight in its pursuit and Eames traces the lines of his sweating face with his fingertips, Arthur's body bowing back and then forward again with the force of his pleasure.

"Tighten up for me, baby. Get me hard again," Eames whispers.

Arthur splays his hands, wide and slender across Eames' chest. His hole works over Eames' over-sensitive cock in spasms.

"Eames," Arthur moans, voice hoarse.

Eames feels his own come dribble down his balls.

"God, you're fucking perfect," Eames yells just as he hits full hardness and Arthur moans low, as if he was waiting eagerly to use Eames—just a vehicle of Arthur's hedonism.

He rides him without a single thought. Eames just holds on, pleasure spasming too hot and bright up and down his back as Arthur slams himself down onto Eames' dick. It's way too soon for Eames to be hard again and the pleasure is too intense, too bright and sharp like Arthur's canines. Eames is gasping in pleasure and pain, watching as Arthur takes what he needs, body pink from arousal and sweat and he's _divine_.

"It's good, it's oh, fuck Eames, need it, oh yes," Arthur's says, breathless and incoherent.

"I want you to come like this," Eames murmurs, hands moving up Arthur's thighs to clutch at Arthur's arse. "Get yourself off on the feeling of my come inside of you."

It only takes a few more rough thrusts, Arthur's body practically flailing in all his grace over Eames' body until he's wailing, screaming in something like rage as he comes, shooting pearly ropes all over Eames' hand and stretching to spatter up and down Arthur's tense stomach.

Eames doesn't give him much time, just turns him over onto his hands his knees and pounds into him until he comes again. Arthur just writhes, too sensitive and he never, never lets Eames fuck him after he's come but he does now. Eames uses him, moving his entire body onto Eames' cock, fucking into him and coming with a strangled version of Arthur's name.

Eames collapses on top of him for a few moments but eventually, Arthur starts to wheeze and Eames goes to roll off of him.

"Stay inside,"Arthur says, hand reaching back to hold onto Eames' hair. "Don't pull out."

Eames nods, lazily, rolling over and taking Arthur with him until they're both on their sides, Eames' cock still buried inside Arthur's come-slick hole. Arthur's so relaxed that Eames can feel the trickle of come down his softening cock.

It's so good. It's painful.

Eames wraps his arms around Arthur and doesn't let go. He knows he's probably hurting him, squeezing his chest so tightly but he doesn't want to let go. They're disgusting, so much bodily fluid that Arthur's going to make him burn the bed, like the time Arthur killed an assassin and accidentally left him underneath the bed for two months while they were on a job in Moscow.

"You're insane," Eames whispers into the sweaty line of Arthur's hair. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me and you're a fucking maniac."

Arthur simply finds Eames' hand and intertwines their fingers.

When Eames catches his breath, Arthur is almost asleep in his arms. "There is splooge, _everywhere_ ," he says with awe and a little bit of glee.

Arthur cocks back, thighs tight to keep Eames inside him.

"Stop picking up vocabulary from Ariadne," Arthur mumbles. "I'll choke you both."

"You are the least threatening thing in the world right now, pet."

"Shut up."

"I love you too."

Eames smiles, wide and stupid, when Arthur pretends to be asleep.

This post has prompted me to give Ariadne her own tags because my love for her is greater than anything. None of you will ever be able to compare to Ariadne. Her nipples will eventually take over the world. I'll put in a good word for you all, but there is no promises and she takes no prisoners. will probably be awarded a small island for her proper worship of Ariadne. You should be so lucky.

This fic was brought to you, in part, by inner lesbian rage, Ellen Page's ~~cardigans~~ superiority and not wearing pants.  
[](http://photobucket.com)  
If you are all wondering if I just named a fic _Sploogetastic (What, What: In The Butt)_ , just know that this is reality.

THE DREAM IS COLLASPING.


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